How To Care for Goldfish
by 3seconds
Summary: Set during His Last Vow. The morning after the Watson's "domestic", Sherlock is back in hospital, John is more than a bit not good, and like it or not, Mycroft is forced to care for his little brother's goldfish. *UPDATE: I've just posted a surprise second chapter: Sherlock returns home to 221B from hospital, but there's something lurking in the corner.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Set during His Last Vow. The morning after the Watson's "domestic", Sherlock is back in hospital, John is more than a bit not good, and like it or not, Mycroft is forced to care for his little brother's goldfish.

* * *

 _ **Sherlock's hospital room.** Morning light creeps through the half open blinds. Sherlock is back in the bed after his escape from the same room the previous day resulted in internal bleeding and a second round of cardiac arrest. He lies unconscious, hooked to a number of machines and monitors. _

_John is slumped in the chair by the bedside, anxious and at the same time utterly drained. He clenches his left hand repeatedly._

JOHN ( _muttering repeatedly to himself_ ): Why? Why her?

 _He glances down, notices what his hand is doing and shoves his fingers down between the outside of his thigh and the chair seat to force himself to stop._

 _The door swings open and Mycroft enters, looking as dapper as ever, but with worry written all over his features. His eyes roam over the motionless figure on the bed, and the lights and numbers on the monitors, before his normal facade drops back into place. He nods at John._

MYCROFT: What's the prognosis?

JOHN ( _straightens a bit going into 'doctor mode'_ ): He's stable, but not out of the woods. Luckily, the damage from the sutures he tore wasn't difficult to repair, but the internal bleeding was substantial. His blood pressure and pulse rate are both low. We won't know if there's any cognitive damage until he's conscious. But, ( _deflating a little due to exhaustion_ ) Why are you asking me to repeat things you already know?

 _John slumps back into the chair with a desolate sigh._

MYCROFT ( _gives John a level look with no sarcasm_ ): Survivor talk. Sometimes it helps.

JOHN ( _looks up in surprise, then shakes his head slightly in confusion and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose_ ): It doesn't. Listen, I'm too tired to have this conversation. We'll know more in a few hours. I'll phone you.

 _It's clearly a dismissal, which of course, has the exact opposite effect on Mycroft. He takes a few steps further into the room, leans on his umbrella and gives John an appraising eye._

MYCROFT: No, I'll phone you.

 _John's eyes pop open and his brow furls._

JOHN: What?

MYCROFT: You've had a trauma. You need to rest. I'll stay with him, John.

JOHN: I'm fine. I just need coffee.

 _He runs a hand over his face, pushes up out of the chair and takes one step before his right leg buckles. He grabs the chair back for support._

JOHN ( _under his breath and through clenched teeth_ ): Damn.

MYCROFT (in a commanding tone): You are most decidedly not 'fine' and coffee isn't going to fix it. Your limp has returned. You're clearly on the verge of collapse. Go home.

 _At the last two words, John looks like he's been shot himself, clearly pained, and not bothering to hide it. Mycroft looks momentarily taken aback by John's reaction, then understanding dawns and he rolls his eyes._

MYCROFT: Baker Street. Reassure Mrs. Hudson. Eat. Sleep. Shower. ( _John shakes his head, but Mycroft continues before he can say anything_ ) You're no use to him in this state. I dare say seeing you like this would do him more harm than good. Don't argue. Just go.

 _John takes a deep breath and looks over at Sherlock, allowing his shoulders to relax in acquiescence._

MYCROFT: ( _waves a hand toward the door_ ): My car is waiting outside to take you. I'll ring you at the first sign of any change.

JOHN ( _with a small curt nod_ ): I'll be back in three hours.

 _He takes a tentative step towards the door. He limps badly on his right leg and sucks in a breath, in obvious pain._

MYCROFT ( _holds out his umbrella_ ): Make it four hours.

 _John huffs in frustration, grabs Mycroft's brolly and using it as a makeshift cane, limps from the room._

###

A/N: This is a bit of a "fix it" for me because it always bothered me that one chase around London was enough to instantly cure John of his limp. So my head canon has always been that his limp came back to varying degrees whenever John was depressed or anxious. And I can't imagine anything more anxiety inducing than Mary's betrayal coupled with the threat of possibly losing Sherlock again (especially considering that Sherlock's heart has stopped twice within a very short span of time).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Sherlock is released from hospital and returns to Baker Street, but there's something lurking in the corner.

* * *

 ** _The foyer of 221B_** _, several weeks later._

 _The outer door opens, illuminating the glass of the inner door. John pushes the inner door open, then stands to the side, holding it open to allow Sherlock to enter. Just out of hospital, Sherlock looks pale and the slightest bit unsteady on his feet. They take a moment to remove gloves and scarves. Mrs. Hudson appears from her flat._

MRS. HUDSON ( _moving to give Sherlock a careful hug_ ): So glad to have you home, dear! John and I have both been beside ourselves...

 _She glances at John, who silently implores her not to say anything more_.

MRS. HUDSON ( _pulling back from the hug_ ): Oh, never mind me. You'll want to go up and get settled. I've got a casserole in the oven, I'll bring up later, shall I?

JOHN ( _smiles appreciatively_ ): That sounds lovely.

 _Sherlock nods, turns and mounts the staircase, holding the railing as he begins to climb the stairs. John gives Mrs. Hudson a hopeful look, then follows close on Sherlock's heals._

SHERLOCK: Not necessary.

JOHN ( _concerned_ ): What?

SHERLOCK: You hovering so close, bracing yourself to catch me. I'm recovering nicely John, I'm not going to take a tumble down the stairs.

 _John huffs, but backs off by a fraction. Sherlock continues up the stairs and into the flat, pausing just inside the doorway. He inhales slowly and surveys the familiar room. The sun is streaming through the windows and there's a fire going in the hearth. The corners of his mouth twitch into a tiny smile._

SHERLOCK ( _in a low voice, almost under his breath_ ): Home.

 _John comes through behind him and makes an agreeable noise as he hangs his jacket on the peg and moves to help Sherlock out of his coat. Sherlock grunts slightly, the movement proving to be uncomfortable if not downright painful._

JOHN ( _hangs Sherlock's coat beside his own_ ): Yeah, you're going to be sore for a while yet. You need a pain pill?

SHERLOCK: Not yet.

 _He struggles to remove his jacket, and John helps with that too, folding the jacket over his arm._

JOHN: Sofa or bed?

SHERLOCK: Chair. ( _ignoring John's disapproving look_ ) I've done far too much lying about lately.

 _John takes Sherlock's jacket into the bedroom, then calls back down the hall to Sherlock._

JOHN: Mrs. Hudson laid out your blue dressing gown. Want it?

SHERLOCK: Mm-hmm.

 _John quickly returns with the dressing gown, holding it open so Sherlock can slide his arms into it. Sherlock eases himself_  
 _down into his chair and lets out a breath, relaxing into the chair cushions as his eyes wander the room._

JOHN ( _going into the kitchen_ ): Tea?

 _Not waiting for a response, he begins filling the kettle. Sherlock's eyes fall onto an object propped in the corner. His smile immediately fades and his brow furls._

SHERLOCK ( _in disgust_ ): What the hell is THAT doing here?!

JOHN ( _steps back into the room and looks around in alarm_ ): What?

SHERLOCK ( _pointing at the corner_ ): That! That! Why is it here?

 _John turns to look where Sherlock is pointing and we follow his gaze to see a familiar large umbrella with a curved handle leaning against the wall._

JOHN: Oh, your bother's brolly?

 _He shrugs, turning back to the kitchen to plug the kettle in and get mugs from the cupboard. It also keeps Sherlock from seeing John mentally kicking himself._

JOHN ( _carefully keeping his voice casual_ ): Been meaning to return that. No worries, I'll take care of it.

 _Sherlock aims a hard look at John's back, then takes a deep breath and steeples his fingers against his chin._

SHERLOCK: Good.

 _Images run through his head of the various times his brother has visited 221B, focusing on the fact that not once (even after Sherlock slammed him against the wall) did Mycroft ever leave the flat without his umbrella firmly in hand._

 _He takes out his phone and brings up the weather app, thumbing back through the past few weeks' rainfall reports. Then his eyes flick to the carpet, especially the area around John's chair, noting a few spots where the carpet has been crushed by something small and round._

 _John returns with two steaming mugs of tea, handing one to Sherlock, who takes it and studies John over the rim while he settles into his chair._

SHERLOCK ( _keeping his voice carefully neutral_ ): You haven't spoken to Mary.

 _John swallows a gulp of too hot tea, the fingers of his free hand tensing. He hides the movement by laying his hand on the chair arm, but not before Sherlock notices the reaction._

JOHN ( _voice calm, but clipped_ ) : No. And I'm not going to until I'm ready. Not one minute sooner, Sherlock.

SHERLOCK: So you'll be staying here for a while.

JOHN ( _relaxing slightly_ ): Seems best considering... If that's alright?

SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. It's fine.

 _John nods, sets his tea aside and picks up a newspaper from the side table. Sherlock sips his tea and surreptitiously observes John take a few deliberate, deep breaths and flex his fingers as he begins to peruse the newspaper._

 _After a few moments, Sherlock sets his mug on the chair arm, picks up his phone and sends a text._

Please collect your umbrella. -SH

 _His phone pings back a response and he carries on a conversation via text while John continues to read the paper._

Certainly. Assuming it's no longer needed? -MH

Just retrieve the damned thing before I throw it in the bin. -SH

Next time you have a near death experience, make better preparations. -MH

For what? -SH

Watching over your friend, little brother. Don't expect me to do it again. -MH

 _Turning off his phone, Sherlock glances up at John with a look of rare affection, which John is too absorbed in his reading to notice.  
_

###

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure who's actually the goldfish here, but I figure after all of the Sherlock whumping in HLV, he could use a bit of comfort. Thanks to lostwithoutablogger and JolieBlack for the comments on Chapter 1 that inspired this second bit of the story. :)


End file.
